Spin a Circle
by SilverMidnight52
Summary: Gibbs finds McGee sobbing in the parking lot. At first he doesn't notice the loaded gun next to McGee. Can he notice before it's too late? *Deep Suicidal Themes* You've been warned.
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing. New Story!! Enjoy!

* * *

"Bye Gibbs," DiNozzo said waving as he left with Ziva.

The two of them left as they argued about movies that Tony had watched, but Ziva hadn't. I shook my head as the elevator doors closed and smiled at their childness. Then I realized that I hadn't seen McGee in awhile.

Looking at McGee's desk I saw that his bag was still there. Standing up I looked at his computer and saw that it was off. McGee would never leave his things here but shut down his computer.

My gut started to twist uneasily as I thought about what could have happened. The last case had hit all of us hard, but it seemed that McGee took it the worst. He was too sensitive, not that it was always a bad thing.

As my gut continued to turn I decided to grab his bag and see if he was in his car. While it maybe possible, although very unlikely, for McGee to leave his things here I knew he wouldn't leave without his car.

I should have made sure he was alright after this case. He seemed to have bonded with the small, lanky, teenager that had killed his tormentors father thinking it was his tormentor.

Because of McGee going through the teens computer did we find out that it was him. It seemed to be sad that he found it out, but he knew that he had to do his job. Even if it completely sucked.

I could tell from all the time watching McGee that he was picked on when he was in school. It wasn't hard to believe that he was picked on. I just didn't like the thought of one of my men being picked on.

When I got to the parking lot I saw McGee's Porsche was still in his parking spot. I was going to turn around and go back inside when I saw someone leaning against the drivers door.

I didn't know who it was at first, but after my eyes adjusted to light I saw that the person was McGee. My gut tightened again as I realized that this didn't feel right for some reason at all.

McGee was just sitting there, in the dark, alone. Maybe this case had hit him a lot harder then I had thought. I could tell that I needed to go talk to McGee about whatever was going though that head of his.

I walked over and dropped the bag next to him. McGee seemed to become even more tense as I sat next to him. I opened my mouth to speak, but I decided to just watch McGee for any signs.

McGee's whole body was tense and his back was hunched over. His knees was pulled as close to his body as possible. From his body I could tell that he wished I wasn't there.

With a sigh I decided that it might be better if I left McGee to his thoughts. I moved to get up and let him be, but then I saw McGee's face and knew I couldn't leave him alone.

Tears were streaming down his face and blood was dripping from a split in his bottom lip. To me it looked like McGee had been biting his lip to the point of it bleeding pretty badly.

I couldn't leave McGee like this even if he wanted me to. McGee needed to talk about whatever was going on and I needed him to realize that I was there for him to talk to.

"Tim," I said softly.

"Don't," McGee said roughly.

I was surprised when I heard him say that. McGee was never one to say something like that to me, at least not in that tone of voice. It made me even more worried about McGee.

I turned to him and stared at him for awhile. McGee didn't look up at me at all and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something major. McGee was my responsibility.

Ever since McGee came on my team I had felt that he was like a son to me. I was never a person that said that I cared about a person, but I made sure that they always knew that I did.

McGee, on the other hand, was never the person to keep thoughts like that to himself. When McGee cared about someone he would let that person know and bend backwards to help them.

"Tim," I said trying again.

"Please," McGee said desperately, "Just don't."

"No," I said shaking my head, "We need to talk."

McGee didn't respond to anything for awhile. My gut was twisting almost painfully by this point. If I didn't get McGee to talk soon then I doubted that I could help him at all.

"Talk," I said firmly.

"Just leave," McGee said angrily.

I opened my mouth again only to freeze. Laying in McGee's right hand was his gun. The gun was fully cocked and I remembered watching him clean it thoroughly today, so I knew it was going to be very effective.

"McGee," I said eyeing the gun.

"Shut up," McGee growled out.

I swallowed roughly and thought about what I could do. It seemed that McGee was under a lot of distress and I hoped I could calm him down at least enough to get the gun away.

"Just give me the gun," I said holding my hand out.

"This?" McGee asked smirking, "Don't worry. I'm not going to use it on you."

"I don't want you to use it on anyone," I said slowly.

"No promises there," he said laughing.

As I watched McGee I saw a glint in his eyes that made me worry more. Something was wrong and it was like McGee wasn't even in his right mind anymore and it scared me.

What was I supposed to do to get him to hand the gun over to me? I had to find out what was wrong with him before I could get that gun away. My movements had to very calm and easy.

I couldn't let McGee tell that I was afraid of what he was going to do. If I was going to get the gun I would have to treat McGee like I would any other person who had a gun.

"I'll use it on myself," McGee said laughing again.


	2. Chapter 2

I own nothing. This chapter is a little detailed and gory. **Please be warned of this before reading.** STRONG SUICIDAL THEMES. You've been warned. Thank you. Enjoy!

* * *

"Tim," Gibbs said surprised.

"What?" I said in a sing song voice.

Staring into Gibbs eyes I knew that he was silently freaking out and I was glad. Maybe I could finally get some emotion out of that shell he had. Hmm, this was going to be a lot of fun.

For the whole time I was at NCIS no one asked me the one question that needed to be asked. No one asked if I was alright. If they had asked maybe I wouldn't be sitting here with a gun in my hand. Or maybe I would have been here faster.

I guess that didn't matter anymore though. I was here doing this as was Gibbs. I wonder what he's thinking. Bet he never saw this one coming. Ha, good to know that I can surprise him.

No one was supposed to be here, but now that he was I knew that it was going to be slightly harder. No, I wasn't having second thoughts, but after Kate died I knew that Gibbs couldn't handle watching another one of us die.

I didn't want Gibbs to watch as I did this, but I couldn't stop now. I had to do this like I had planned. It was this case. This stupid case that has my mind all jumbled up like this.

I thought I had gotten rid of these thoughts years ago. I mean, I went to a shrink and I 'talked' when I was supposed. These thoughts were never supposed to come back again.

For years in school I was the one always being made fun of. Well, shocker there. I guess I took what they said to heart and it ended up a huge mess when everything was over.

After a few years of being picked on I started to think these horrible thoughts. I'd wake up in the middle of the night panting and silently crying because of these stupid nightmares.

At first I thought that it was normal, then the dreams became more detailed. Night after night I would awaken and try to push the images of me killing myself out of my mind.

Yeah, that's right. At night I would have nightmares and every single time I would awaken and I could still remember them perfectly clear. Then something happened that changed everything.

It was during my junior year of high school and these people wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted them to shut up so I could focus on my homework. I gave up on my homework after a few moments and let my mind wonder.

It wasn't surprising to see me doing something like that when people were talking to me, but what I was imagining was the part that made things the realist and scariest for me.

I imagined hurting myself. We were in math class and a protractor was just gently resting on my desk. The sharp end seemed to glimmer in the light and I could see myself reaching for it and slicing my wrist open.

That was when I knew that things were becoming a problem. It was one things to have nightmares about it, but to have daydreams about it was something I couldn't really handle.

I tried to keep these thoughts out of my mind, but they kept coming and they were getting so much more dark and bloody that sometimes I thought I had actually done what I had dreamed.

My first slip up was during the summer before senior year of high school. My parents were fighting over something and I couldn't sleep. I was so tired because I had been awake the night before reading.

As the tiredness swept over me I threw a glass cup filled with water, I had resting on my desk, at the door. The cup shattered instantly and all the pieces were so small, except for one.

One perfect piece was calling out to me. I heard people walking upstairs and, without thinking. grabbed the glass and hid it in my drawer. My parents came in the room worried and I explained that the glass slipped.

They seemed to buy the story and I was thankful for that. We quickly cleaned up the mess and they left me alone once again. I felt a smirk over my lips as I locked the door and covered the windows.

No one needed to see what I was about to do. I didn't even know what I was about to do actually. All I knew is that I had a perfectly good piece of glass in my drawer and some unmarred flesh on my wrist.

The first few cuts were exactly as I imagined. They were so calming and exciting at the same time. I felt like I was in heaven. The cuts started to get deeper and deeper, but I couldn't stop.

Not until I heard Sarah banging on the door telling me to come down for dinner. I looked at my wrist and saw blood. I couldn't even see my skin anymore. I was lucky that my room was attached to a bathroom.

I told her I'd be down in a minute and went to the bathroom to watch the blood away. As the red mixed with the water and flowed down the drain I thought about how my dreams were coming true.

Once the blood was gone I found some gauze and wrapped my wrists up. I knew I couldn't exactly go downstairs with the gauze showing so I slipped on a hoodie and left my bedroom.

Dinner was quiet and very uneventful, at least to me. My parents got into another fight. As they fought I found myself not interested. I pushed my plate away and asked to be excused.

Since my parents were so caught up in their fight not only did they say yes, but they didn't realize that I hadn't actually touched any food on my plate. My stomach was buzzing from the sheer thought of what was lying on my bed.

I quickly made my way upstairs and locked the door once more. I had no clue when I became so private, but I guess that I did have an excuse now. I stared at the glass for awhile longer before placing it in my drawer.

Exhaustion soon consumed me. My whole world seemed to be spinning. At the time I didn't realize it was because of the blood loss, but I guess that was something you never realized yourself.

"That's right Gibbs," I said smirking wickedly, "I'll use it on myself. Any objections before I pull the trigger? Or would you like to leave? I wouldn't want that hair of your messed up."


	3. Chapter 3

I own nothing. Same warnings still. Enjoy!

* * *

"That means leave Gibbs," Tim repeated slowly.

"No," I said firmly, "Not until I get the whole story."

"And if I say no?" he asked swinging the gun in his hands, "What are you going to do then?"

"Damn it McGee," I said angrily, "This is not some joke."

"Oh I know," he said smirking, "But it is just as fun."

"Just tell me what's going on," I said taking a deep breath.

"You see I would," he said pointing the gun at me, "But where is the fun it that?"

"McGee," I said through gritted teeth.

"Getting mad," he said evilly, "Oh this is priceless."

"Just tell me what the hell is going on," I said throwing my hands up.

"I thought it would be obvious," he said calmly, "I'm going to kill myself. Now either you can watch or you can leave."

"I'm not leaving," I said moving so I was kneeling, "And I'm not watching you kill yourself."

"It's seems we have a conundrum then," he said placing the gun to his lips in thought, "You really want to know what is going on?"

"Yes," I said moving closer to him.

"Okay," he said smiling, "Well, get comfortable. This might take a long time."

And take a long time it did. As McGee told me the story of how he started to hurt himself I felt myself getting sick, which was a very difficult thing to make me feel at any time.

The thoughts that he had thought and how much detailed was enough to make me actually see him inflict those wounds on himself. No wonder he was a writer. That boy could make you see things you never thought possible.

I could tell that he was enjoying telling me this story. He could see that I hated every moment and every word that fell from his mouth. He wanted to hurt me while he told me.

I don't understand why he wanted to hurt me, but he was succeeding quite well. I felt horrible for the boy sitting next to me. He had been picked on to the point of harming himself.

The story didn't seem to effect McGee the way it would a victim. There was something majorly missing from this story and that's the thing that could save McGee's life in the end.

If I could just find out what that something is I could possible get that gun from McGee's hands and everything could go back to normal. At least I hoped I would go back to normal.

The boy sitting in front of me was not the man that I had hired all those years ago. He had changed into something that I never thought he could have been. He should be acting like a victim.

Instead it seems like he's proudly spiting off his childhood like it was his next novel. I wished these stories had been his novel and not his life. No one deserved to be treated like this.

Something in McGee had snapped. His past was the only thing that might keep him from using that gun. I needed to keep him talking and hope that he gave me something I could use.

As he continued his story I felt my stomach tighten at the sheer thought of how many times I had seen a faint scar running across or up and down his wrist. I had never really paid attention to them before.

Now I wished I had. If I had paid more attention to McGee I could have saved us both from having to be here right now. I could have saved McGee from the man that he was right now.

"It was fun you know," McGee said leaning closer to me, "Watching everyone. They had no clue."

I could tell that he was making fun of me at this point. He was making fun that I hadn't been able to figure this out yet. He also was making fun that I had no clue how to fix this mess.

Something was horribly wrong in McGee's brain at the moment and the only thing that could fix that was getting him to talk. The more he talked the better chances I had of saving him.

McGee kept telling me his stories and faking cutting himself with glass. He was enjoying this way too much. It seemed like this was just a stupid game to him and it was sickening me.

How could he be acting right now? He was putting on a show for me. This whole thing was a show. I had no doubt the story was true, but he now had an audience and he was going to use that.

He showed me the scars on his wrists and pretended to count them before getting lost. As I stared at his wrists I wondered how I could have missed them when they were so pronounced.

It looked like he hadn't hurt himself like that in awhile though. If he hadn't hurt himself in awhile then there was still hope in getting him to give me the gun without hurting himself.

Something had pushed him over the edge. And I had a feeling that it was in the story that was coming. Listening to the story I realized that it seemed like it was only the beginning.

The beginning in itself was a nightmare for any person and it happened to McGee. McGee was the sweetest person I knew. How anything like this could happen to me was completely out of my mind.

I knew the saying 'Bad things happen to good people', but this seemed to be taking it to an extreme. No one could say a bad thing about McGee and it was hardly fair that's all he knew.

Years of having his flaws pointed out must have hurt him more then any hit could. This 'dream' he seemed to have made up for himself wasn't helping the cause in anyway at all.

"Want to hear the best part?" McGee asked sweetly.

"Sure," I said slowly.

"I even went to a shrink," he said before laughing.

"What happened?" I asked curiously.

"They put me on these nice medications," he said innocently.


	4. Chapter 4

I own nothing. Same warnings as before. Enjoy!

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"For what Tim?" Gibbs asked carefully, "What were the medications for?"

I just laughed at his question. In truth I didn't know what the medications were. No one told me the medications that were being forced down my throat. My parents knew what they were though.

I wanted to ask them why I had to take them. I wanted to know what they were exactly, but they never told me. They never told Sarah either. No one thought that Sarah needed to know I was crazy.

And I knew I was crazy. I mean, who had dreams about killing themselves? No one even knew what I was thinking or doing to myself until my mother found a story I was writing.

I always had a knack for writing stories and these dreams just needed to be written down. For weeks I wrote these stories. Each one getting more in detail and darker. The way I was able to describe the dreams was surprising even to me.

Notebooks started to pile up in my closet. I didn't want anyone to know these thoughts. I even had a hard time talking to people. My focus was shot. I could only think of suicide.

I knew that my grades were slipping and I didn't care. The only thing that truly mattered was how sharp the object I had was. The glass that I had started out with was getting dull and covered in blood.

I had to throw it out and get something else. One night while everyone was asleep I went into the kitchen and stared at the knives. My dad always kept the knives sharpened to the point of them being brand new.

At dinner I would watch as my dad would cut his meat and imagine it being my muscles. I could tell that the knives would do a lot more damage then the glass I had before.

I took a small fillet knife and went back up to my room. When I looked at the clock I saw that it was almost two o'clock in the morning, but I didn't care. I knew I wouldn't sleep at all that night.

My sleeping habits had changed along with my eating habits. I had lost a lot of weight. Since my clothes had always been very baggy on me no one noticed that I wasn't eating.

When I looked in the mirror, which wasn't often, I looked sick. My eyes were sunken and my skin was pale. I wondered why my family hadn't asked me about what was going on.

That next day I walked downstairs a few hours later and saw my parents sitting on the couch talking. I could barely hear what they said, but I did hear my name a few times in the conversation.

I wasn't very concerned by what they were doing and just left for school without saying anything to anybody. It was in that time that I realized that I should have done something to cover it up.

When I got back from school my parents were sitting on the couch quietly. It was Friday and Sarah had a sleepover with her friends. I went to go upstairs, but my Dad wouldn't let me.

They called me over and I tried to get them to leave me alone, but they wouldn't. I started to yell at them and get angrier. I was never an angry person so it was a little weird, but I just wanted to go upstairs to my room.

Then my dad stabbed a small fillet knife into the table. The same one that I had stolen a few nights ago. I grew silent and stared at the dried blood that coated the blade in layers.

My mom started to read something. It was a dream I had turned into a story. Tears were streaming down her face as she read the story. After she read a few more lines my dad asked me what it was.

I felt myself shrug, but I didn't talk to them. It wasn't any of their business it this was something I was doing. It took them this long to figure out something was wrong so why should I tell them anything now?

For hours they asked me questions, but I didn't speak at all. Worry seemed to be etched into their faces, but that didn't matter to me. They had taken my knife and I needed it back.

Standing up I tried to get to my room, but my dad kept pushing me down on the couch. I was getting angry and I moved to hit him. My fist connected with his jaw and he fell backwards.

My dad looked so shocked and I grinned and laughed. As I laughed I could feel a tightening in my chest. The laughs started to become more breathy and my hand went to clutch my chest.

I couldn't breathe. I was terrified and I could see that my mom saw that too. My mom tried to pull me closer to her, but I pushed her away. I saw fear in my dad's eyes and that was the last thing I saw before passing out.

When I awoke I was in a hospital and hooked up to these machines. I could see that there was an IV and blood hooked up to my arms. My wrists were clean and wrapped in gauze.

No one was in the room, but that changed quickly. A doctor walked in with my parents and started to talk to me. He told me that I was not going to be released until I went to go talk to someone.

I laughed. My parents had fear in their eyes and the doctor was concerned. I don't think he had met someone like me before and that was nice. I didn't want to go to the shrink though.

Days came and went. The shrink would come in and try to get me to talk, but I refused. He told me that I needed to talk to get over this. For the first time I did talk. I said I didn't want to get over this.

The doctor was surprised. I don't think he was expecting that. For a few days I didn't see the shrink, but he came back. This time he had my notebooks with me. He read from the notebooks and asked me questions.

For the first time I felt connected to him. I felt like he actually knew what he was doing. I started to talk. Hours turned into days and I poured my soul to this shrink. Then he came with my parents and a few bottles of pills.

"The shrink had a few bottles," I said calmly, "I was never told what they were."

"Did you know what they treated?" Gibbs asked slowly.

"I assumed craziness," I said shrugging, "Although maybe I should still be on them. You never know."


	5. Chapter 5

I own nothing! Man, this story is taking a lot out of me. Pouring my thoughts out like this. Anyway. Enjoy!

* * *

"Do you think I'm crazy Gibbs?" Tim asked innocently.

I didn't know how was I supposed to answer that question. It's not that I thought McGee was crazy, but there was something wrong with him. He mentioned that he was put on medication.

Since he didn't know what the medication was or what it treated I was at a serious disadvantage. For this moment I knew that I needed to know what those medications were to help him.

As stealthily as I could I sent a text message to Ducky. Ducky had all the medical records of everyone and I hoped he could figure it out. When the message was sent I waited.

I listened as McGee continued with his story. I couldn't imagine what his parents felt to have found those things in their sons room. I also couldn't understand why this was happening to him.

McGee had gone through something that had changed him. The thing that changed him and driven him to the point of hurting himself and dreaming of killing himself.

In the whole time I had known McGee I never would have guessed that he had went through something like this. The shrink really worked. Or maybe it was the medication.

Why would they put him on medication and not tell him what it was for? Whatever it was it had to be very serious. For them not to tell him what was wrong with him was surprising.

McGee was a very smart person. I knew he would be able to understand what was going on if they had taken the time to talk to him. I got a message from Ducky a few moments later.

There was only two words on the message. Bipolar and depression. That's what the medication was for. How was I supposed to get him over this? There was a major issue in his head and the medication…

The medication was the key. I didn't know much about these disorders, but I knew enough that he should still be on them. McGee was off of the medication he was supposed to take.

He never really was over his disorder, he was just under medication. Why hadn't he told me about this before? I would have been watching him a lot more. Maybe that's why he didn't tell me.

If I had known he was on medication I would never leave him alone. I wasn't that I didn't trust him, but now I was seeing what happens when he doesn't have the medication in his system.

I was truly worried about what he could do to himself. I was hurting me to see him go through this and then I remembered that this wasn't the first time he had gone through this.

Why did he stop taking his medication? Something had happened to make him think that he didn't need to be on them anymore. It was obvious that he still needed the medication.

I was glad that I was the person that was dealing with McGee. I didn't know if anyone else could handle what was going to happen. There was something that McGee needed and I hoped I could provide.

Stopping medication was about the worst thing you could do. As I listened to McGee something was hitting me as wrong. It seemed to me that McGee had no clue he was sick.

To him the things that he was doing were his normal. How was I supposed to tell McGee that he was sick with something like bipolar? It was not exactly something that I could tell him easily.

McGee needed some serious help and I was the person that had to do it. I didn't know if McGee trusted me, but he was telling me all these things and I felt responsible to help him.

The story that he was telling me made me feel so horrible. I couldn't let McGee go through all of those stupid things alone. I couldn't let him go through them at all. I needed to help him.

The gun in McGee's hand was waving around slowly. I had never seen a gun as the worst thing in the world, but right now I hated them. McGee looked so at peace holding the gun.

I knew that I couldn't just take the gun away from him because it had to be his choice to give it to me. If I got him to give me the gun then I knew that I would be able to help him.

No matter how much I was terrified that I couldn't help McGee, that I couldn't save him from himself, I knew that it had to be on his terms. If we didn't go through this his way then nothing had changed.

How was I supposed to get the gun away? How was I supposed to convince McGee that everything was going to be okay? How could I get him back on his medication?

If I got him back on his medication then things can go back to normal and we could have a real conversation. Then he said how long it took until he agreed to take the medication.

It took him days and now he was off them. How was I supposed to get him to get back on the medication? There was just something in McGee's eyes that told me I still had a chance.

The chance was small, but I knew in the back of his mind that he wanted me to help him. That might have been very far back in his mind that it will take awhile, but it was still there.

"I know what the pills were for," I said when he stopped talking.

"And what was that?" McGee asked curiously.

"They were for bipolar and depression," I said staring at him.

I stopped talking and waited for him to think about what I said. He looked confused at first, but then it changed slowly into understanding. I knew he would understand.

"That's why they didn't tell me," McGee said shrugging, "Oh well."

"You need to get back on your medications," I said calmly, "Then we can have this conversation."

"Maybe this is my real mind," he said softly, "Maybe I'm thinking clearly now."


	6. Chapter 6

I own nothing. End of the story. I hoped you all liked it. This took a lot out of me. Enjoy!

* * *

"You know I'm right McGee," Gibbs said sighing.

And he was right. I hadn't thought like this for years and now I was. Now I was thinking thoughts that I stopped those stupid pills. I always hated taking those stupid medications.

I had to stop them though. My head kept pounding when I looked at the pills. I knew that they were changing me. Those pills were making me into something that I had never been.

Yet it was the person that I had come to like. I had come to know this person and it was who I had become. I never took the medication before I went to sleep so the dreams hadn't gone away.

Maybe Gibbs had a point. I never could remember much about my life before I started to hurt myself. The only thing I remembered was being picked on and my parents fighting.

The medication might actually bringing out the real me. I was so confused. I could tell that Gibbs wanted me to get back on the medication, but I just wasn't sure that was the best plan.

I needed to know what was going on. When I was on the medication the thoughts just seemed to fade away. It wasn't like I liked the thoughts, but I was so used to having them it was weird.

My whole life had been centered around those thoughts for months and then they left. Everything had changed completely when I started to medications. Even Sarah noticed the changed.

To me it seemed like my parents were walking on egg shells around me. It angered me that they thought I couldn't handle whatever was going on. I wasn't some child.

For awhile I didn't talk to my parents. I knew that they were just trying to protect me, but I didn't need to be protected. Gibbs had some of the answers. He could tell me what he knew.

"Gibbs," I said moving closer to him.

"Yes," Gibbs said calmly.

"These thoughts," I said slowly, "Why am I thinking them?"

"I don't know," he said shrugging, "All I know is that you're holding a gun, saying your going to kill yourself, and your off your medication. It's your mind. You need to find out why."

"I tried," I said standing up, "I tried to get them to stop already."

"What happened?" he asked standing up also.

"I tried to drown myself," I said softly.

"Tim," he said sadly, "What made you stop?"

"Tony," I said slowly, "He came over to my place and I took my medication to make sure I didn't say something."

"You don't want to hurt anyone," he said smiling, "That's a good thing."

"I don't want to hurt anyone else," I corrected him, "I want to hurt myself."

"But you haven't," he said touching my shoulder, "That matters the most."

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked tears falling from my eyes.

"Give me the gun," he said placing his hand out for it.

I stared at Gibbs hand and wondered what I was supposed to do. I know that he wanted me to give him the gun, but I wasn't sure yet. Gibbs was a good person and he said he cared about me.

How was I supposed to believe him though? It took three years for him to truly know who I was and now he was trying to get me to listen to him. I trusted Gibbs on missions, but why should I now?

He didn't seem to get mad that I was doing this, but I wasn't sure. I wasn't so sure that Gibbs could go through with this. My head was starting to pound as I stared into Gibbs eyes.

Gibbs seemed so worried. I had never seen that look in his eyes when he looked at me. Maybe he really did care about me. I just hoped I wasn't going to regret what I was about to do.

"My bag," I said sighing, "My medication is in my bag."

"Okay," Gibbs said picking up my bag and giving it to me.

I knew he wanted me to lower the gun, but I wasn't in the right mind to put it down. The pills fell from my bag and onto the ground. There were three pill bottles that fell.

Gibbs grabbed the bottles and handed them to me. I placed them on the car and opened them. The pills fell gracefully into my hands when I poured them. When I had the pills I dry swallowed them.

When the pills were down I looked over at Gibbs and grinned. Gibbs smiled back ever so slightly and reached for the gun. I shook my head and moved the gun away. He looked confused until I pointed the gun at him.

"Don't tell anyone," I said slowly.

"You need help McGee," Gibbs said calmly, "And if you're going to go off your medication then someone needs to watch you."

"I don't think so," I said smiling.

"What if we made a deal?" he said hopefully.

"What kind of deal?" I asked confused.

"One where I don't tell anyone and you stay with me," he said shrugging.

"You'd do that?" I asked dropping the gun slightly, "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're like my son Tim," he said crossing his arms, "And I don't want to bury you."

"Gibbs," I said dropping the gun and throwing my arms around his neck.

I felt Gibbs wrap his arms around my back and hugged me. I felt tears fall from my eyes as Gibbs comforted me. Gibbs was right. I didn't want him to have to bury me either.

Gibbs broke the hug and picked the gun up before grabbing my bag and leading me to his car. I felt so exhausted that I fell asleep as Gibbs drove us wherever he was taking us.

When I awoke I was in a bed. I climbed out and saw my medication and a glass of water. Shrugging I took the pills and went downstairs. Gibbs was setting food on the table when I walked in.

"I'm confused," I said calmly.

"You're staying here so I can look after you," Gibbs said sitting down, "Now come eat, we're done talking about this."

"Okay," I said smiling, "And thanks for everything Gibbs."


End file.
